The DoggettScully Files: The Beginning of the End
by Cerasi J
Summary: John and Monica are now running for their lives, can they match wits wits the evil forces they're up against? CHAPTER THREE IS NOW UP!!!
1. The Beginning of the End

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Title: The Doggett/Scully Files: The Beginning of the End

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Chapter: 1/?

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Author: Cerasi J.

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Rating: PG-13

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Summary: What happens just before Scully gets the call about Mulder's verdict? First part of a series.

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Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Files charactors, blah, blah, blah… CC makes all the money, blah, blah, blah…

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Author's Note: I have changed a few scenes, names, dates, places etc so the charactors would fit better into the story line, sorry for any confusion!!! ^_^; 

~*~*~

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Dana Scully residence

Georgetown, Virginia

11:01 p.m.

Special Agent John Doggett sat at Dana Scully's kitchen table; his elbows rested on it's shiny surface, his head in his hands, his mind racing with thoughts of Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and the fact that he hadn't paid his electric bill this month. 

His partner of two years, Monica Reyes, sat beside him, the same worries bouncing in her mind, (save for the electric bill). Gibson Praise, the wonder boy, sat across from John, a worried look upon his face.

Gibson pushed his glasses back up onto his nose, he looked at Monica, blinked and yawned. She caught him out of the corner of her eye, and yawned herself. 

John looked across the room at Scully, who was sitting nervously on the couch, awaiting the phone call from A.D. Skinner. Monica sighed, shifted in her seat and followed John's gaze to the back of Dana's head. _I wonder how much longer it's going to be,_ Monica thought. 

Gibson cleared his throat and asked in a low voice, "What do you think the verdict will be?"

Scully turned her head, Gibson's words capturing her attention. Monica shook her head sadly, "I don't have any idea." 

John frowned, worried, "Me either, kid. We can only hope for the best." 

Hearing nothing of interest, Scully turned her head so she was staring at the wall again.

Monica looked uncomfortable, she leaned over and whispered to John, "Should we try to do something for Dana?" John looked at Monica with an _I don't know _expression. 

She looked as tired and worn-down as he felt, "I feel so bad," he whispered, so only Monica could hear, "I don't know what to do for her…"

Gibson shifted in his chair, "I'm hungry." He stood, stretching, "I'm gonna run down to the corner deli-…"

Both agents turned to look at Gibson and answered at the same time, "No!" He looked startled, held up his hands, and sat back down "All right, all right!"

John leaned back in his chair, running his hands over his face, sighing. Scully cleared her throat, stood up and walked to the table, "You guys can order pizza if you want," she said.

All three of them looked down at the table, they were all tired and hungry, but no one was in the mood to eat. Dana crossed the kitchen, went into the hallway and snuck to the room where her son used to sleep.

She opened the door, slipped in and quietly shut it behind her. Slowly, she walked toward his crib, which was now in the corner of the room, covered with a sheet. 

Sighing softly, she lifted the sheet from the crib and extracted a soft, brown teddy bear. Tears gathering in her eyes, she held the bear to her chest, then her face, feeling the soft fur on her cheeks.

She was unable to stop her tears, they flew from her eyes one after another. So much had been taken from her… first her health, her family, the man she loved dearly and now her son.

_Oh William,_ she thought,_ Where are you now? What are you doing? Have you taken your first steps yet? _Burying her face in the bear's soft fur she sobbed quietly and said, "Oh William… oh, my baby, why did I ever leave you? Why, why, why?!"

She sobbed again, Dana sometimes felt like the whole world was against her, felt like everyone and everything wanted her dead, even those closest to her, Doggett, Reyes, Skinner… all of them. 

Wiping her eyes on her shirt sleeve and sniffling, she kissed the fuzzy bear on the nose and placed him back in the now empty crib, Monica had given William that bear when she arrived home. 

Dana had hoped William would be old enough to play with that bear some day… but that hope was gone now.

Pulling the sheet over the crib, she exited her son's room and went into her own. She walked into the bathroom where she wiped her tears away with a damp cloth.

Taking a few minutes to compose herself, Dana then left her room and went to sit on the couch to await A.D. Skinner's call.

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11:37 p.m.

It was nearly midnight by the time Skinner called, Gibson was nodding off, John was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, and Monica looked like she could use a cup of coffee.

Scully had been sitting on the couch, staring at the wall for the last half-hour, thinking that when she heard that phone ring, she'd run right toward it and she'd hear Mulder was being released and everything would be okay.

At 11:40 exactly, the phone rang. Gibson's head snapped up, John's eyes flew open, but Scully didn't budge. The phone rang once. Twice. John stood, wondering if Scully would answer it. 

Three times. 

He walked slowly toward the living room, praying that Mulder was going to be okay, John didn't know Mulder that well, but he understood what it was like to lose something so precious. 

By the forth ring, John had picked up the reciver. His heart racing, he answered, "Hello?"

He had his back turned to everyone, but he could feel everyone's eyes upon him.

Skinner's voice was on the other side of the line, he sighed once, and said simply, "Death. By lethal injection," Skinner's voice cracked, he sounded like he was on the brink of tears, "Tell Agent Scully I'm sorry... I did everything I could."

John nodded, then realized Skinner couldn't see him nod, "Thank you, sir." John hung up the phone, blood rushed wildly in his ears, he turned to Scully, who was watching him with expectant eyes.

Doggett sighed and looked across the room at Monica and Gibson, who were both watching him with the same expression that Scully wore. John cleared his throat, "Death. By lethal injection." 

****

Monica gasped, Gibson sank back into his chair, his eyes filling with tears. Dana's eyes searched John's face, looking for signs that he was joking, trying to fool them all in some elaborate way. She saw nothing.

Scully sank back against the couch, despair and hopelessness filling every inch of her being, tears rushed to her eyes and brimed over. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. John, now feeling guilty, stammered, "Skinner said he-... he did everything he could."

Monica stood and walked toward John, she placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tightly, she whispered, "We know, he did his best." Releasing John's shoulder, Monica sat next to Dana and embraced her friend. Dana clung to Monica, "I just found him," she sobbed in Monica's ear, "Now I'm going to lose him again."

Monica hugged her fiercely, she wanted to reassure Scully that everything was going to be all right, but she knew she couldn't tell Dana that, because they all knew it was a lie. 

Gibson wandered over, and sat on the other side of Scully. Tears running from his eyes, he put his arms around both Dana and Monica, hugging them both.

John, now feeling uncomfortable and out of place, mumbled that he was going to get some air and would be right back. He slipped quietly out Scully's front door, and headed down the fire stairs to the street where his truck was parked.

When he reached the outside of the apartment building, he sat on the concrete steps leading into the building.

Sighing heavily, he put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. It was chilly tonight, John could see his breath, but it didn't matter anymore, nothing did. He had worked so hard to find Mulder these past two years, and for what? Nothing… nothing at all.

Mulder would never get to see the finer things in life now… he'd never see his son grow up, he'd never get to see his son's firsts…

John leaned against the railing, and thought about hanging it all up. Giving up his badge and his gun, moving back to New York and simply living. 

He wouldn't have to think about Mulder and Scully and the killer aliens after them all… he could worry about silly things, like paying his electric bill on time.

"Hey," a voice said suddenly, "smile, the world ain't that bad." John glanced up, and gasped at what he saw. He scampered to his feet, startled.

Standing before him, plain as day and big as life itself, were The Lone Gunmen. 

Slack-jawed and bug-eyed, John gaped at them. Frohike raised an eyebrow at him, "What? You're acting like you've never talked to a dead guy before."

Attempting to regain control of himself, John replied, "Well. I haven't."

Langly, still wearing his infamous "Joey Lives" shirt, chuckled. "It's actually kinda fun, popping in suddenly and scaring people, I mean." He frowned and turned serious, "We hear Mulder's gonna be one of us soon." John looked at his feet, "Yeah… I know," Sighing, he sat down again, "I did everything I could… everything."

Byers spoke up, "There's still something you _can_ do, Doggett."

Without looking up John said with all the sarcasm he could muster, "Heh. Like what? Send him a cake with a file inside?"

Byers continued, "Something like that, yes." Arching an eyebrow, John eyed the ghost men in front of him, "Oh? And what's that?"

Rolling his eyes, Frohike stepped forward, "Bust him out of prison, stupid!" Reaching out, he smacked John upside the head.

"Ow!" John's hand flew to the side of his head. He glared at the air where Frohike had just been standing, and saw nothing, save for an elderly woman, eyeing him closely. "You all right, sonny?" 

She scrutinized John, "You were talking to yourself…" Puzzled by the sudden disappearance of The Lone Gunmen, he blinked and shrugged, "Yeah, I guess I was…" 

Staying very close to the right side of the railing, she scrambled past him, into the apartment building. He watched her go inside, his eyes returned to The Lone Gunmen and he said cynically, "Thanks, now I've got some old lady thinkin' I'm a skitzo."

Langly, smiling sweetly, replied, "You're welcome."

Brushing past his two companions, Frohike sat beside John, "Okay. Listen to us. You and Scully have to get Mulder out of prison."

John said doubtfully, "And how do I go about doing that?"

"You can hack into the government computers and get the lay-out plans for the prison where Mulder is being held," Byers replied, he extended his arm and handed John two official looking government I.D. cards, neither with a name or a photo. "But, if you pull it off, you and Scully will be wanted criminals, you know that, don't you?"

John frowned, looking over the passcards, "What are these?"

"They're passcards with high access, they belong to the prison guards and such, it actually comes in handy being able to walk through walls," Langly informed him. 

John raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Langly continued, "You'll have a time slot of about three minutes, can you and Scully get in and out that fast?"

"Yeah… I think so," John mulled over this statement for a moment, "What about Monica and Gibson?"

Byers sat beside Frohike, "Take them with you." John shook his head, "No. I won't do that, I'm not going to put Monica's life in danger like that."

"Ooh," Frohike raised an eyebrow suggestively, "I think Doggett has a crush." He elbowed John in the side, only to find that his elbow pasted right through John's side. He cleared his throat, looked uncomfortable for a moment, then continued, "Not that I can blame 'ya, Reyes is hot."

John glared at Frohike, "Watch it, pal. She's still my partner, you know." He turned to Byers, "So, tell me how to get to these lay-out plans… we don't have very much time."

The three men crowded around John, whispering. For the next ten minutes, Frohike, Byers and Langly gave John detailed instructions on how to break Mulder out of prison.

Filing all in the information into the back of his mind, John said, "Okay, then what should I do?"

All three of them thought for a moment, then Byers replied, "Well. If I were you, I'd hack the bank accounts of some senators and congressmen, take a few million here, a few million there… and send it around the world."

John's eyes grew wide, but Byers went on, "Then I'd change my name and get the hell out of Dodge…" Byers looked at his feet, "I mean… that's what _I_ would do…" 

Doggett thought on this for a minute, "And how would I go about doing that?"

Frohike blinked, "You? Mr. Always-gotta-be-by-the-books? Rob some congressmen and flee the country?" Frohike laughed out loud. 

"No, really!" John protested, "If I'm gonna do this, break Mulder out, I mean, it won't be safe for anyone anymore… then I want out, everyone, me, Monica, Gibson…" He looked meaningfully at the Lone Gunmen, "Can you help me?"

They blinked, looked at each other and finally Langly said, "Okay, here's what you do…"

~*~*~

"… So, I rig the computers to go on timers, so at the exact same time we're busting Mulder out of prison, the money is being sent to, oh, say the Bahamas?"

Byers nodded, "Mm-mm. Then I'd get a fake passport, new name, new identity, and I'd fake my own death. Then I'd go to someplace where I would fit in… like England, or Australia."

Frohike nodded his agreement, Langly spoke up and said, "But take Reyes-…" John rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, she's hot, I know."

"Who's hot, John?" 

Startled, he glanced over his shoulder at Monica, who was coming out of the building. "Uh…" He started, "Um, no one."

She grinned slyly and sat down beside him, Frohike was no longer there. "No, really, who?"

Shaking his head he replied, "It's nothing, Monica, listen, you and I… we need to talk…" John got to his feet, offered his hand to Monica, who took it, looking puzzled.

"What about, John?" 

Still holding her hand, they walked across the street to his truck, where he opened the driver's side door for her, Monica scooted across to the passage's side. 

John climbed in and shut the door. He was silent for a moment, then turned to Monica and said, "Listen, we've gotta help Mulder."

She cocked her head to the side and queried, "How?" John's face remained unreadable, "Well," he said, "We'll have to break him out."

"John!" Monica exclaimed, "Break him out?! We can't-…"

"How then, Monica?" His voice was sharp, "Just tell me how we save him and we'll do it your way." 

She fell quiet, looking at her hands in her lap, she mumbled, "I don't know…"

Leaning over, he grabbed her shoulders and gave her a little shake, "Listen to me, okay? _You have to listen._"

"I'm listening, John." His hands still resting on her shoulders, he said, "Monica… if we, you and me and Scully, pull this off… we're gonna be dead men, you know that, right? Dead men walkin' the Green Mile, there will be no hope for us… so we have to hide."

"How?" She asked again. 

"Well," John said thoughtfully, letting go of her shoulders, he reached into the backseat and pulled out a laptop computer. "This is how. I bought a remote modem the other day, so I can get online from anywhere."

Placing the computer between the steering wheel and his stomach, John turned it on and waited. He heard something move in the backseat, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, he saw, again, the spirits of the beloved Lone Gunman, all three waved at him without saying a word.

Eyes moving back to the computer screen, John informed Monica, "Don't look in the back seat."

She blinked, turned around to look… and promptly screamed. 

Not looking up from the computer, John smirked and said, "I warned you." The Gunmen waved fondly at Moncia, "Hello Monica," Byers said. She stared at them, wide-eyed, her lips pressed in a thin, white line. "B-but," she finally managed, "You guys are dead!"

"So we've noticed," Frohike replied sarcastically.

John, looking up from his computer at last, said to the three ghosts in the backseat of his truck, "Uh, hey, guys can I have a word with Monica…?" All three raised their eyebrows, "_Alone,_" John said through clenched teeth.

Langly shrugged and all three of them disappeared. Monica gaped. She shut her mouth and blinked at John, "Did you-…?"

"Yes."

"Did they-…?"

"Yes."

"Am I high?"

He smiled a bit, "Not that I know of." Turning to her he said, "Anyway…" He sighed, "I don't want you to help with this break out… I don't like the idea of putting your life in any sort of danger."

She started, but John held up his hand, "Let me finsh, Monica…" He grabbed her shoulders again, looking into her eyes, "Monica, please…" he was whispering now, "Out of all the things I've ever had… you're all I have left."

She didn't quite know how to respond to this, she blinked at him. He shook his head, and gave a soft chuckle, "I'm trying to be romantic here, work with me, okay?"

Smiling, Monica nodded. John continued, "I just don't want you to get hurt… you're everything to me now, if something where to happen to you…" He looked down, then looked at her again, "I dunno if I could forgive myself."

Monica looked at him sadly, "You'd move on, you always have."

"Not you, Monica. I couldn't just 'move on.'"

She was flattered, "John-I…" 

"Look, you and me," he said, "We're a team, we're partners, we're in it _together_, all for one and one for all, right? If we break Mulder out and don't get caught, let's take this money, you and me, and we'll go someplace together, all right? Anywhere you want to go."

Monica grinned at him and was about to respond when they heard mock clapping from the back seat, "Wow John," Frohike said, laughing, "You should get a freakin' Oscar, man." John whipped around to face him, "I thought I told you to get lost!" He yelled.

"Fine," Frohike retored, "Don't need our help, see ya later…"

Sighing heavily, John said, "Never mind, Frohike. Let's just get it done with."

~*~*~

Thirty minutes later, the lay-out plans for the prison was saved to John's hard drive, and the computerized timers where in place. In exactly one hour one million dollars from five different bank accounts was going to be pulled and sent to the Cayman Islands.

With all the plans in place, The Lone Gunmen said their final goodbyes to John and Monica, and disappeared. John sighed, looking at the computer on his lap. He thought for a moment, then his fingers began flying over the keys, Monica looked over at the screen, "_Now_ what are you doing?"

He looked up at her and grinned, "I'm paying my electric bill."

~*~*~

Back in the apartment, Scully was laying on the couch, tears still running down her cheeks. Gibson was in a chair across from her, snoring.

Her thoughts seemed slow, like there was a fog in her brain. All she could think of was, _Mulder's going to die, Mulder's going to die._

Suddenly, the front door to her apartment flew open, John and Monica rushed in, "Scully," he said, "Get up."

Startled, she did as he said, she had completely forgotten they were here. "John-…" She stammered, "What are you doing?"

Shaking Gibson awake he replied, "Call Skinner. We're gettin' Mulder out."

To Be Continued…

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	2. Escape

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Title: The Doggett/Scully Files: Escape

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Chapter: 2/2

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Series: The Doggett/Scully Files

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Author: Cerasi J.

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Spoilers: _The Truth_

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Pairings: MSR, DRR

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Archive: Please! Just let me know where.

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Summary: What happens to John and Monica after they drive off in _The Truth_? Second part of series. 

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Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I don't own the X-Files and never will, (Gods damn it all!!)

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South Highway 54

New Mexico Desert

7:58 p.m.

They had to escape. There was no other option. They had to get out, drive until there was simply no more road left to drive on. John Doggett glanced over at his partner, Monica Reyes, and said, "Now what?"

The fear in her eyes was evident, she did nothing to hide it, she spoke softly, "I don't know." John felt the fear, too. It hammered at the back of his brain, warning him to get away, to run as far and as fast as he could. He shoved it down, he knew he had to be strong if they were going to get out of this mess alive. He had to be strong for Monica.

Monica turned in her seat, watching for the helicopters that had almost destroyed them less than an hour ago. She breathed deeply, the fear in her eyes toning down a bit. She turned back to John, "No sign of them… any idea why they were even there?"

With a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, John replied, "I don't know, Monica… I just don't know…" Her hands rested in her lap, she had so many things to say, so many questions, questions for which there were no answers.

She looked off to the west; the sun was just starting to dip beneath the horizon, splashing the clouds with brillant reds, purples, and golds.

"The sunsets out west were always so beautiful," she murmured quietly, almost to herself, "I miss living out here."

John stared at the endless stretch of road ahead of them, Monica's statement hitting his ears. "Yeah… I've never lived out here…" John knew his declaration didn't matter, but it broke the silence between them.

Monica's next question caught John off guard, "So, the money's been trasferred?" He looked sharply at her, "Yeah… right now it's Switzerland…" He looked at his watch; "In 24 minutes exactly it'll be sent to Taiwan."

She stared at him with wonder, "You've got this all worked out, don't you?"

John met her gaze, "Sort of. Byers, God rest his soul, said that we should fake our own deaths… what do you think about that?" 

The colors in the clouds were brighter, stronger now. The planet Venus shimmered like a diamond above the majestic Rocky Mountains.

Monica pulled her feet onto the seat and rested her forehead on her knees. "I don't like the idea… I don't like the idea of me, Monica, being dead and some other, some _new_ person, walking away from it all…" Her tone turned bitter, "But it seems we have no other choice."

Leaning over, John patted her shoulder tenderly, "I don't like the idea either, but to ourselves, we'll always be John and Monica."

She nodded, "Yeah… that's right." She sighed soundly, "I still don't like the idea."

"Neither do I, but we're out of options, Monica."

"Well," She said after a moment's pause, "How should we do it?"

John looked over at her, "Do what?"

"Fake our own deaths."

"Oh…" He thought on it, all the possible senarios playing out in his head. Finally, he rubbed a hand over his eyes and said, "Aw, jeez, I don't know... I haven't exactly faked a death before, you know?"

Chuckling, Monica replied, "Yeah, I know." Forcing his hands to release their white-knuckled grip on the wheel, John settled back in his seat. The LCD clock on the dashboard turned 8:07 p.m. The sun was completely gone; a few violet-colored clouds remained. 

The stars were beginning to expose themselves, getting ready to dance merrily across the New Mexico sky for the next ten hours.

John looked out the driver's side window, bushy Joshusa trees casting long shadows against the golden sand.

He shifted his gaze to Monica, he studied her face. Her eyes were closed; her dark hair framed her beautiful face. She looked like she was sleeping. John suddenly felt the wild urge to kiss her. He wouldn't really mind it, kissing Monica. In fact, he'd had the chance to do it several times, but he never did and he always wished he would have. 

John knew that if he had one wish that could be granted, it wouldn't be for money, or fame. It would be that he wished Monica felt the same way about him.

John also knew that if he didn't stop looking at Monica, he just might be forced to kiss her anyway. Fidgetting uncomfortably in his seat, he moved his eyes to glance out the passager's side window. Beyond the window were the same bushy Joshua trees, casting their evil looking shadows. Beyond the Joshua trees were more trees... and beyond that was something John had never expected to see in the middle of nowhere. An airstrip.

His crystal blue eyes lit up as a sudden idea stuck him across the face. He pulled off the road and slowed to a stop. Monica bolted upright, her eyes flying open, "John, what are you doing?"

John stared at the airstrip; Monica followed his gaze, "What are you looking at?"

Not tearing his eyes from the mini-airport in the distance, fearing it might disappear if he did, he answered, "That air-strip... is it military?"

Monica blinked at him, her thoughts still foggy from dozing. "Um. I don't know... why?"

Finally wrenching his sight away from the runway in the distance, he opened the console between the two seats, "A map, a map! There's gotta be a map in here!"

Not finding the item he was hoping to acquire, he unbuckled his seat belt, opened the door and ran around to the back of Knowle Rohrer's Ford Excursion. John opened the doors in the back of the large SUV and began to rumage around. 

Monica, now free from the fogginess in her brain, also unbuckled her seat belt and rushed to the back to help John. "John," she said sharply, "Tell me what you're looking for!"

"A map," he returned, still digging through various supplies in the cargo area, "A map of New Mexico."

Monica threw a glance over her shoulder, still wary of the killer helicopters. "A map of New Mexico? What for?"

Turning, he handed Monica a bundle of clothes—a camo uniform. "Here, we might need these later."

She said nothing, only watched him with mild interest. "HA!!" John cried victoriously, he held a map of the United States above his head.

He grabbed the bundle of clothing from Monica, tossed it back inside and motioned for her to get back in the car. 

When they were both seated inside again, he switched on the overhead reading lights, and studied the map closely.

Monica leaned over, trying to get a look at the map. The top of her head brushed against John's cheek, she blushed, "Sorry."

John waved a hand, "No problem." He smiled at her, and then returned to the map. "Where are we?" She asked.

"Well, we're on highway 54… so… we would have to be… somewhere… around…" He searched the map, "… here." He pointed to a little town on the map called Ancho. "Here. We're here, somewhere south of here, maybe…"

John handed the map over to Monica, who studied it just as closely, "Right here? Near Little Black Peak?"

"Yeah, I think so… but, look." He pointed at the map, his index finger tracing the road they were currently parked on, "There's a military base here, White Sands Missile Range, not open to the public… about thirty miles from here… why would they put what _looks _to be like a civilan airstrip way out here? In the middle of nowhere, and close to a missile testing range."

"Well," Monica started, meeting John's eyes, "Is the airstrip on the map?"

"No. And this is a military issue map, too."

She frowned, "What could it mean?"

He grinned slighty, a twinkle in his eye, "I really don't care right now, but I know how we can fake our deaths."

~*~*~

Fifteen minutes later, John was dressed in the same bundle of camo clothing he had handed Monica. She stood watching him as he buttoned his shirt. 

She played nervously with the buttons on her thin jacket; New Mexico was scorching in the day time… but freezing at night.

Finshed dressing, John looked up at her and, brushing off his jacket, teased, "How do I look?" Monica chuckled, "Like you should be in Paris, really."

He laughed, "Sure, army camo is going to be flooding the Gap stores all across the country."

Monica didn't reply, she didn't like what John was about to do. When he presented the idea to her, it left a lingering heaviness in her heart, and a fear. A fear that he may never return.

John stopped laughing, and looked at her, concered, "What's wrong, Monica?"

Trying to smile, she said, "Nothing, nothing at all. Why?" He took a step closer to her, examining her face in the silver moonlight, "Something's wrong, what is it?"

Monica found herself getting lost in John's eyes… if that was even possible… she was pretty sure it was, since she found it hard to think straight.

She forced herself to look away from him, she couldn't bear looking into his eyes and thinking he might never return.

"Monica," John sounded worried now, "C'mon… what is it?"

Sighing softly, she met his eyes again, she despertly racked her brains for something witty to say, some smart comeback that would make him think she was perfectly fine. She could think of nothing of the sort, so she said simply, "I'm afraid."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm afraid you might never come back," Monica whispered.

John looked down at her, puzzled. "I'll come back, don't worry." Monica shut her eyes to block out his peircing gaze, "What if you don't? What happens then?"

He thought of nothing to say in reply, he simply looked down at her, wondering what would become of Monica if something _did_ happen to him.

"Look," he said suddenly, he pointed toward the airstrip in the distance, the colored lights on the runway lighting up the somber New Mexico desert. "I don't plan on dying out there."

She opened her eyes and smiled in a wry, almost sarcastic manner. "Oh? Well, sometimes we don't always get to stick with our plans, John."

Now it was his turn to look away. He shook his head; "I didn't give you much of a choice anyway, did I? No, I just _assumed_ you'd go with me to the ends of the Earth."

Still shaking his head, he started to walk toward the airstrip, then turned around again to face Monica. "Fine then, go. I understand. I understand that you'd rather live your life away from all the hell and destruction I happen to bring with me wherever I go, I understand that, I really do."

Monica looked at him, confusion written all over her face, "No, John… it's not like that at all." 

"Then what is it? Huh?" He was starting to sound like he was about ready to turn and walk away from her forever.

Sighing heavily she said, "I don't want to lose you, John. What did you tell me? All for one and one for all, we're in it _together._" She pointed at him, then herself, her voice louder, "It's you and me, pal. Together. And you're right, I'd probably follow you to the ends of the Earth, you know why, John?"

She walked over to where he now stood, "Because I _want_ to be with you, I love being with you, you're always there when I need someone…" Monica stared up into his eyes, "You just don't get it, do you? I love you, John. _I love you._"

He gaped at her. That was definatly something he was NOT expecting. Her words repeated over and over in his mind. "Y-you do?" He finally stammered.

Monica nodded, still looking up at him with expentant eyes; "From the moment I met you."

John grinned at her, unable to contain his glee, "WOOHOO!!" He threw his arms around her and twirled her in a happy hug. Monica laughed and hugged him back just as tight. 

He put her back on the ground, and, before she could say anything more, gave into his fondest wish and kissed her. 

When the kiss was finshed, John looked down at her once more, and said, "I'll come back to you, I promise." 

Monica blinked back tears and hugged him tight, her voice was filled with emotion, "You better keep that promise."

"Hey," he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head, "It's me."

She chuckled, "That's what I'm afraid of." 

When he could hold her no longer, he let her go and said, "You remember where we're supposed to meet?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good." Kissing her one last time he whispered to her, "I love you, too." He turned and with a smile and a wave started running in the direction of the airstrip.

Monica watched him go, still trying to blink back tears. She whispered into the darkness, "You'd better come back to me."

~*~*~

****

South Highway 54

Just outside of Carrizozo, New Mexico

9:00 p.m.

One hour later, Monica Reyes stood next to the stolen Ford Excursion, on the cross-roads of Highways 380 and 54. 

She glared at the Ford SUV, sure, it had every modern do-hicky you could ever imagine, but did it come with extra gas tanks? Nooo… of course not.

Monica leaned against the side of the SUV, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing the same kind of fatigues John was. They were tacky, but they were warmer, that was for sure.

Deciding that she wasn't going to get anywhere standing there, she grabbed her gun, a flashlight, and a Power Bar from the cargo area, and started on her way.

She kept walking south, she saw a sign a ways back for a town called Carrizozo, maybe she could find a car there…

Monica tucked the map under her arm and quickened her pace a little bit. A voice called out from behind her, "Hey, Monica!"

She spun around, grabbing for her gun. Directly behind her, stood her good friends, The Lone Gunmen. Monica gasped, "God! You guys have _got_ to stop doing that!"

Frohike shrugged, "Sorry, listen, we can only stay for a minute, but here," he tossed her something. She held it up to the moon light, it was five cell phones in a plastic bag.

"What the hell am I going to do with these?" She demanded, "Call Triple A?" Byers also shrugged, "They're disposable, untraceable cell phones. We thought you might need them."

"Thanks…" Monica placed them in one of the deep pockets of her army jacket. "And my suggestion," Langly said, "Use a guy in Mexico City, his name is Hunter. Just Hunter, he's the best."

Puzzled, Monica asked, "Best at what?" Frohike said, "You'll see, we have to go now, and if you want to get there faster, car-jack this guy coming down the road."

"Car-jack-…?" Before Monica could ask another question, the Gunmen had disappeared. "Thank you," she whispered to the inky blackness.

She looked down the road to see a pair of yellow headlights perhaps a mile down the road.

__

But I can't car-jack that person, she thought. The other side of her brain argued, _You're all ready wanted dead, what's a car going to matter?_

Deciding to listen to the insane half of her brain, she pocketed the map, and placed her gun in the right pocket of the coat.

She stepped close to the highway and stuck her thumb out. The pair of headlights belonged to an older car, the driver slammed on the brakes, causing the tires to screech. Black marks were left on the road.

The driver, a young man with black hair, rolled down the window and eyed Monica suggestively, "Hey sweetheart, need a lift?"

Monica wore a coy look on her face, she bent down to peer into the window, drawing her gun and pointing it at him, she replied, "Hi there. I'm not stealing it, I'm just borrowing it." She smiled sweetly.

"Whoa!" The raven-haired young man opened the door and scampered away into the darkness.

Monica jumped inside, slammed the door and started to drive off. Stealing a glance into the rearview mirror, she watched the young man get in the Ford Excursion and try to start it. Leaning back in her seat, she mumbled, "Oh, I'm going to go to hell…"

Suddenly remembering the cell phones in her pocket, she pulled one out, looked at it and dialed a number as she drove. Placing the phone to her ear, she listened to it ring.

Once. Twice.

"_Bueno?_"

"Papa," Monica said, "It's me." 

"Monica?" The voice on the other end said in English, "What's the matter?" She sighed, "Papa, listen, get Mama on the phone…"

Her father did as she asked, "Monica?" Rosa Reyes said, "Is that you?"

"_Si, _Mama… listen, I need your help…" Monica began speaking Spanish and south-of-the border in Mexico City, her parents listened with worried expressions.

To Be Continued…


	3. Sudden Death

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Title: The Doggett/Scully Files: Sudden Death

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Author: Cerasi J.

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Chapter: 3/3

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Series: The Doggett/Scully Files

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Feedback: Yes! Yes! CerasiJ@for-president.com

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Archive: FanFiction.Net, Fan Fiction Online, The Vision

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Website: http://www.angelfire.com/journal2/fanfictiononline

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Rating: PG-13

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Summary: John and Monica have gotten more from the X-Files than they ever bargained for and now they are wanted by the U.S. government, can they match wits with the evil forces working within the system and escape with their lives?

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Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Files characters, I'm just borrowing them, I'll put them back when I'm done.

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Author's Note: I don't know that much about airplanes or fighter jets, most of this stuff I picked up from my brother who is crazy about World War II and stuff like that. Sorry if I got any of the technical details wrong! –C.J.

---

**__**

X-Files Magazine: "What about the Doggett-Reyes relationship? What sort of closure would you like to see there?"

****

Robert Patrick: "We get married, have children, and live happily ever after."

-Robert Patrick interview with the _X-Files Magazine_

---

****

Little Black Peak Airstrip

New Mexico desert

9:06 p.m.

The desert stretched out before him like an endless wasteland. Silver moonlight cut through the bleak night as he ran towards the phantom airstrip in the distance.

For the first time in his life, John Doggett was running. Running from everything he'd ever known. 

__

I shouldn't have left her, I shouldn't have left Monica, his brain screamed these words at him as he ran deeper into the New Mexico desert. 

His breath rasped in his throat, and his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. He slowed his pace a notch, he kept forgetting the air was thinner up here.

John's thoughts turned, once again, to Monica and the heartfelt, romantic admission she'd made to him less than a half-hour ago. He did love her, yes, he always had. They both knew that.

He stopped running for a moment and dropped into a crouch, his sharp eyes taking in the details of the airstrip ahead of him. 

A few stray people were scattered on the tarmac, walking with large machine guns slung over their shoulders. Not such a good idea to mess with those people. 

There was a control tower; it was surrounded by chainlink fence, topped with barbwire. Barbwire was one thing that John did _not_ want to mess with.

John's breathing began to return to normal, his heart thumped quickly in his chest. _When I get back,_ he thought, _if I get back, I'm gonna ask Monica to marry me._

Thoughts of a nice house, a dog, and maybe a child or two suddenly popped into his head.

A smile crept across his face at this thought, and that thought is what pushed him to stand up and start running towards that airstrip again.

With each step it seemed he was coming closer to the sudden death round. Whoever scored first, won. 

And John had to score first.

John came closer to the control tower, where he saw men taller than himself standing at the top with military issue machine guns slung across their chests like Rambo.

He also decided that the big dudes with machine guns were another thing he did _not_ want to mess with. He crept closer to the tower, keeping close to the chain-link fence surrounding the airstrip.

A very large, very bright, Halogen powered spotlight swept around the perimeter, searching for intruders. Keeping close to the fence, John sneaked towards the control tower, beginning to think that his plan was not a good one.

When the light was away from him, he made his way to the fence that surrounded the control tower. He stopped every so often, when the searchlight would head in his direction.

As the light started to turn away from him again, John began to scramble up the fence. That's when he noticed two young men staring right at him. He froze. Sweat ran down his spine, John knew that he was in for it now.

"Captain Hail?" One man asked, stepping closer to the fence, "Sir… what the hell are you doing?" Both soldiers stared at John as if he was insane.

"Uh," John started, then, taking a different tone of voice he said, "What the hell are _you_ two doing? Standing there like a bunch of morons, I take it. I was conducting a little experiment, I snuck outside, and then I was planning to sneak back _inside_."

Both young men continued to stare at him with blank expressions, so John elaborated with an annoyed sigh, "I was trying to prove to, uh, General Mackenzie that security on this base is lacking. As you can see, no one saw me sneak out."

"Oh!" The second soldier said, "I see. Very good idea, sir. I don't like the idea of lacking security either, sir." The first solider asked, "Would you like me to let you back in, sir? Because if you snuck out, you probably don't have an I.D. card on you."

What luck! John nodded, "If you don't mind, soldier. This proving lack of security has given me a headache, there any place to get a decent drink around here?"

Both men laughed and lead John around toward the gate, which was in front of the control tower, "No, sir, there isn't a decent bar around here for miles." 

John walked through the gate like he owned the place, "Soldiers, follow me, please." John started toward the other side of the compound, where it was very dark.

When all three of the men where buried deep in shadows, John said, "Soldier, can I see your weapon a moment, please?"

Confused, the first man handed over his very large gun. John looked it over and mumbled to himself about not enough bullets in the chamber. Both men looked at each other and shrugged as if to say, "Whatever." In this split second, John dropped the gun, sprang forward and bashed both of their heads together.

Both men were out cold. The head bash wasn't enough to kill them or do any real damage; they would just have headaches when they woke up.

Hurrying to avoid being found, John traded uniforms with one of the men, picked up his gun and wandered back onto the tarmac.

Slinging the gun over his right shoulder, he placed the cap snuggly on his head, the shadow from the bill of the hat shading his eyes. 

He looked around. Two black helicopters were parked not far from where John was walking. The same black helicopters that, he was sure, had tried to kill him and Monica earlier. Not to mention Mulder and Scully.

The sight of them made his blood boil, John had served his country faithfully for many years, only to be nearly killed because of something he had _accidentally_ stumbled onto?

Talk about unfair.

John spotted something else that was parked close to the helicopters. Something that would aid his mission greatly. An F-18 fighter plane. Heading in the direction of the iron eagle, he decided it was time for some paybacks.

The plane was parked in the shadows of the compound; this would be the easy part. Glancing around to make sure he wasn't being followed or watched, John climbed up the steep, three-step ladder, shoved the hatch back, dropped his gun inside and hopped into the cockpit. 

He closed the hatch and started to fiddle with the controls. It had been a long time since he'd flown one of these… and back in his day they didn't have all these fancy gadgets.

Six young men, obviously part of the nightly patrol, strolled past the F-18 fighter jet. John slid down in his seat to avoid being seen. He held his breath, fearful that if he made one wrong move he'd be caught.

When he was sure they had passed, John let out his breath slowly and peeked out at the tarmac below. All six men were gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, John returned his attention to the buttons and levers spread out before him.

Frowning, he slowly reached towards the computer screen set in the middle of the airplane console. 

He fingered a red button to the right of the screen and debated weather or not a plane would be the way to go. There were always trucks at the base, and those would probably be a lot easier to steal. 

He shrugged, figuring that the United States Government really owed him one.

He pushed the red button and almost screamed when he heard, "Missile active, missile active. Missile will be deployed in five… four…"

John glanced around at the computer panels frantically; the screen flashed red warnings at him. He pounded a fist on it, "DON'T DEPLOY! DON'T DEPLOY! STOP THAT!" 

The computer, however, seemed to ignore John's panicked cries. "…three… two…" 

John began pushing every button that was flashing, somehow he got the engine started and the plane in gear, but the computer seemed hell-bent on launching a missile. 

Finally deciding that it might be fun to blow up some stuff, John reached down between his feet, picked up the helmet and plopped it on his head to muffle the sound. 

"One. Missile deployed."

Cringing, John watched as the missile shot out from one of the plane's wings, flew across the airspace of the tarmac, causing several people to scream, yell, duck and run for cover. The missile came to a stop when it hit one of the black helicopters sitting on the other side of the field.

The chopper exploded into a massive ball of flames, fuel, and parts. Red-orange fire lit up the night sky. 

The sudden fireworks caused John to use one of his son's many childish exclamations, "Oh my God, that was so cool!"

As quickly as it had started the fire seemed to be out, doused by the men and women scatted around the tarmac holding firehoses. The people below seemed to notice that John was hiding in the cockpit, because they pointed up at him, raised their large guns and opened fire.

John ducked down and released the brakes, causing the plane to lurch forward at the people with the guns. This seemed to surprise them, because some of them dropped their weapons and made a run for it.

The others, however, weren't going down so easily. They stood their ground and continued to fire at John. The Plexiglas windshield caught the bullets, the glass cracked but it held.

John gunned the engine as high as it would go, he knew he had to get past the men with the machine guns or he'd never get out of here. He was still crouched down low in the seat; it was like driving blind.

The engine that was tucked under the left wing suddenly gave a whine and blood sprayed everywhere.

He grimaced and hoped no one else would get near the turbines. The gunfire stopped and John took the chance and peeked out the windows. He was on the right track; the plane was cruising down the runway at about 80 miles an hour.

John fought to remember what came next, flaps? Or rudder? Flaps came first, right? Or was it the lights?

Flashing blue and red lights chased the plane down the runway. John struggled to sit up in the seat. The plane was beginning to lift itself off the ground; if he didn't hurry he'd lose his chance. He grabbed a lever near his right knee and gave it a yank.

The flaps on the wings folded downward and the plane shot of the ground. 

John wasn't ready for the sudden bump; his reflexes kicked in. His arms sprang forward, caught the steering controls and forced the plane back to the ground. The tires smashed into the pavement with a screech. 

With a loud _bang_ one of the tires exploded. John shouted very colorfully as he pulled back on the controls and put the plane back in the air.

The G-force shoved him back in his seat; he seemed to be going up like the space shuttle _Endeavor._ When the plane leveled itself out, a computerized voice said, "Welcome, state your destination, please."

Breathless and wide-eyed, John asked, "Where the hell am I?" 

"You're in the air. Ha. Ha," came the response from the computer. 

"Oh wonderful," John said sarcastically, "A machine with an attitude, that's just great. I need to get to Oliver Lee State Park."

"There is no airport in Oliver Lee State Park. Please choose another destination."

"No, I will not choose another destination, I need to get to-…" 

"State your destination, please."

John glared daggers at the computer screen; he fumbled with a few buttons and figured out how to turn the autopilot off.

He toggled on the GPS mapping system and brought up a map of New Mexico air space. "Monica," he said to the computer screen, "I hope you don't leave without me." 

---

****

Oliver Lee State Park

Alamogorda, New Mexico

9:27 p.m.

---

Monica Reyes sat beside her stolen, black sedan in the overwhelming darkness that seems to cling to forests. 

She was waiting in a small clearing, complete with a picnic table and BBQ pit for those random camper families. How she got the car in there was beyond her. 

It seemed that waiting for John to come back to her was the hardest thing she had ever done. It was like waiting for lab results after the doctors said, "Hey, we think you've got cancer." 

John and Monica had agreed that if he didn't return by a decent time, she was to go on to Mexico City without him. Monica had stubbornly told him no, she'd wait forever if she had to.

After Monica had explained the situation to her parents, they agreed to help her. Her mother was going to be picking up the money; her father was making the airline reservations, and her cousin Enrique Reyes was flying up from Mexico City to a small airport just across the border called_ Nuevo Casas Grandes._

Her cousin was a small-time pilot, who owned his own plane, but only used it to give tourists an aerial view of Mexico City.

Earlier that evening, Monica's father had hit the streets in search of this Hunter person. It turned out he was an "Engraver", a person capable of hacking computers, erasing data and giving you a new identity, passport, and everything else you could ever need or want. Forged wise, anyway. For a price, of course.

Monica shifted her weight so she was sitting on the ground; it was wet and cold from the settling dew, she clutched the flashlight in her hands and resisted the urge to turn it on, for fear the batteries would die. 

Every noise she heard seemed to be magnified by a thousand. And everytime something moved in the woods, she'd jump out of her skin.

Sighing, her wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them to her chest.

Would this nightmare ever end?

---

****

Airspace over Mescalero Apache Reservation

New Mexico

9:37 p.m.

---

Flying was the easy part; it was escaping that was a bit tricky. "Pilot, identify yourself. You are trespassing in United States Military airspace, over." 

John rolled his eyes; they'd been saying that for the past seven minutes. You'd think that they would have got it by now.

According to the radar system in the cockpit, John was approximately fifty-one miles from the spot where he was supposed to meet Monica. The radar also told him it would take approximately five minutes to get there.

"Pilot, this is Captain Hail of the United States Army, to whom am I speaking? Over." John didn't answer; instead, he just rolled his eyes again. These people had tried to kill him, ruined his life, as it were, as if they didn't know who he was.

"If you do not turn your aircraft around, land, and turn yourself in, we will be forced to take defensive action, over." This got John's attention, he looked at the console. Four minutes and counting, until he reached his destination.

It would take them at least five minutes to scramble fighters—that would give John a head start. Unless, of course, those fighters were already in the air.

"We will give you one minute to decide, if you continue we will be forced to take defensive action, over."

One minute, huh? One minute wasn't a lot, but who cared? He was already wanted dead. John pushed the throttle up to the max, the G-force sending him back into his seat. 

"Destination: Sacramento Mountains," the computer quipped. John glanced down at the map and flight information on the screen.

Flight Speed: 653 m.p.h.

Destination: Sacramento Mountains

E.T.A.: 2 Minutes

"Pilot, your time is up, we will give you one last chance to identify yourself, over."

John ignored them again; he was too busy scanning the rugged mountains for a valley or just a flat stretch of ground.

"Pilot, this is your last chance, turn around-…" John reached over and shut off the radio. He glanced at the computer screen again.

Flight Speed: 550 m.p.h.

Destination: Sacramento Mountains

E.T.A.: 30 Seconds

Suddenly something whizzed past on the right, John glanced out the window to see another F-18 fighter jet hovering just past his right wing.

He swore loudly and began to look around. Then he saw it, just out of the corner of his eye. The moonlight glinted off of something metallic.

"Monica," he whispered. Then smiled, she had made it, she was safe. His eyes cut to the left; there was a very small valley that was surrounded by jagged rocks, and beyond the rocks was forest. It reminded him of the Rim Rocks in Billings, Montana.

John dove down with the nose of his plane, the sudden dive taking him off of radar. 

Down and down he plummeted. He tried to pull up on the controls, but the plane was going too fast, it had stalled.

Alarms and bells went off in the cockpit. The ground seemed closer every second. The computer console told him he was 5,000 feet from the ground. He couldn't even jump, this would have to be perfect timing, or Monica might have to go to Mexico without him.

3,000 feet. John had heard of people saying that when they had a near-death experience, their life would flash before their eyes. Well, that's what was happening to John. He thought of his wedding day, Luke's first birthday, first baseball game.

2,000 feet. Close enough, John reached under the seat and pulled the Eject lever.

He was flung out of the cockpit with all the force of a freight train. He gasped as his parachute opened and he was yanked back toward the sky.

John watched as gravity kicked in and pulled his plane to earth. He threw up his arm to shield his eyes as the plane hit the ground and exploded.

The parachute floated gently to the ground, where John collapsed beneath the weight of the heavy canvas. He lay on the ground for a moment, panting. He heard the other planes circling the area around the valley.

John struggled to his feet, ripped his knife from his belt and started cutting the lines that held the parachute. 

When he found his way out of the white material, he looked up at the sky, where the jets where still circling. He didn't have much time before they found him on radar. Gathering up what remained of the parachute, John walked it over to the heap of twisted metal and burning parts.

He dumped the parachute into the flames and watched the red-orange columns race toward the heavens.

He pulled the helmet off his head, ran a shaking hand through the sweaty, brown-blonde knots, and took a good look at the object he held in his hand.

The handle printed on the front of the helmet read, _Sudden Death_. He stared at it for a moment, then lobbed it into the rest of the burning wreckage.

"Checkmate," he said, grinning at the sky. He took one last look at what remained of the F-18. Turning on his heel, he fled into the woods to find Monica.

---

****

Oliver Lee State Park

New Mexico

9:49 p.m.

---

When she heard the explosion, she knew it had to be John. He would be on his way to find her right now, and everything would be okay. 

Or, that could have been a miscalculated landing, and John _and_ his plane could be on fire somewhere.

Pushing all the negative thoughts to the back of her mind, Monica stood up and brushed off the bottom of her pants. She was very nervous and scared, what if John never came back? Could she do this on her own? 

The people she had been working for all of her adult life had suddenly turned their backs on her, and now she was running for her life. 

What about Mulder and Scully? What would happen to them? And to Gibson? And William? All the things she'd worked so hard to protect would be gone.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a twig snap, and then a rustling sound. She wondered if they had bears in New Mexico. She'd lived in the Southwest for most of her life, but only in the desert areas. 

Monica could handle almost every kind of southwestern animal you threw at her, rattlesnake, no problem, fox or any other kind of wild dog, sure, the more the merrier.

But bears? Nuh-uh, no frickin' way.

She glanced at her watch, where was John? Monica walked around in a circle to stretch her legs and tried to calm her frazzled nerves. Another twig snapped; her head shot up and she whispered, "John?"

She heard something fall, not a tree, but it sounded like a person crashing to the ground.

Pushing her fear aside, she called out, "John?" Monica waited, her head cocked to the side, listening for any signs of a person.

"Monica?" A voice called out faintly; Monica almost had a heart attack. It was John! And he was safe! 

"John!" She called again, louder this time. She ran toward the woods, but didn't go in them for fear she would never find her way back. "John, I'm here!" She switched on her flashlight.

By now she could hear footsteps pounding on the ground. _Just keep calling,_ she thought, _keep calling and he'll find you._

"John!" She turned her head to look over her shoulder for just a minute, when she turned back a figure burst out of the inky blackness of the forest. "Monica!"

Before Monica could protest, John came to a screeching halt, threw his arms around her and kissed her fiercely.

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back for all she worth, John was safe and alive and in her arms, what more could she ask for?

Breaking off the kiss as suddenly as he started it, John panted, "Let's get married."

Monica blinked up at him, a bewildered expression upon her face. The moonlight showed clearly on John's face. He look tired and worn out, but at the same time, exhilarated.

Seeing that he was serious, her excitement showed through a little too clearly, "Okay!"

John smiled at her and leaned down to kiss her again.

---

**__**

Nuevo Casas Grandes Airport

Mexico desert

11:24 p.m.

---

Enrique Reyes, nephew of Dimitri Reyes, paced the runway nervously. How did Monica get herself in these situations? It was that blasted American government, that was what it was. 

He always told her they were trouble, and she always laughed when he told her that, she always said they were on her side.

Well, now it was time for Enrique to have the last laugh, but not right now. His cousin needed help. He looked at his glow-in-the-dark watch face and scowled, where was she anyway?

Dimitri, his uncle and Monica's father, had called him less than an hour ago, dragged him out of bed, and the only thing he was told was that Monica was in some sort of a bind. Her and that ex-cop partner of hers. 

Enrique scowled again and started to pace faster. The pavement around his airplane would probably catch on fire if he paced any faster. But he couldn't help it, he was mad. He was mad because he was scared. Scared for his cousin.

But he was also mad at his uncle for dragging him out of his nice, warm bed where he was cuddled with his wife, only to tell him, "Monica's in trouble."

__

And? Enrique wanted to scream, _it's not_ my _fault she joined the FBI and got involved with those American pigs._

He had nothing against Americans, because they were actually pretty cool people, but he was mad and ready to take his anger out on anything. 

For the third time in five minutes he glanced at his watch, and mumbled a strong curse. He was the only plane waiting at the gate, if she and her pig-headed partner didn't get here soon, the cops might be after _him._

Probably for something stupid, too, like accessory to the crime or something like that.

Enrique's cell phone rang, "_Bueno?"_ He paused long enough to answer it, and then resumed pacing. "Enrique," Monica said in English, "We're here, where are you?"

"Where am I?" Enrique spouted in Spanish, "Where have _you_ been, Monica? I've been waiting all night!" 

"Ah," she said, "Never mind, I can hear you yelling. We'll be right there."

Within minutes Doggett and Reyes had found their way to her cousin's plane. Enrique looked up and saw her walking towards him, holding hands with a man about the same age as himself. Only taller, and with a lot more hair.

"Enrique!" Monica said, letting go of John's hand and reaching to hug her cousin. Enrique spouted off more stuff in Spanish, all the while embracing Monica like he'd never let her go.

John stood back away from the little man, and watched the family reunion.

Monica finally let go of her cousin, "Enrique, _le quisiera para satisfacer mi socio_, John Doggett." She smiled at John and he eyed her closely, "What did you say about me?"

Monica laughed and Enrique said, "She said, 'I'd like you to meet my partner, John Doggett.'" Enrique stuck out his hand, his anger controlled now, "Nice to meet you, Monica's Partner, I'm Enrique Reyes, Monica's cousin." Enrique reminded John of Danny Devito for some reason.

Both men shook hands and exchanged hellos as they boarded the small plane. Monica sat behind the pilot's seat and John sat next to her, holding her hand tightly. 

She yawned as Enrique started the engines and taxied down the runway, and her eyes drifted shut as the plane took off.

John wrapped one arm around her waist, and the other pulled her head against his shoulder. She was suddenly very sleepy. John bent his head and whispered in her ear, "Your cousin said it's probably a two hour flight, so just go to sleep, I won't let anything happen to 'ya."

Monica smiled and leaned into his strong embrace, "I know, John," she whispered back, "I love you."

He brushed her hair back from her eyes and kissed her cheek, "I love you, too." The last thing she remembered hearing was John asking Enrique what airlines flew from Mexico to Australia?

****

---

Dimitri and Rosa Reyes residence

Mexico City

1:07a.m.

---

When she awoke, the first thing Monica thought was, God, does my head hurt. The second thing she thought was, Where the hell am I?

She opened one eye and peeked out. She was in a small bedroom painted a mint green color. Her old bedroom.

Monica struggled to sit up. She was in her old room. How did she get here? When she stayed at her parent's house before, she always got the guestroom or the couch. She hadn't stepped foot in her room in years.

She looked around. The wire frame bookshelf was still here, along with all her books. Her favorite paperback spy novels.

Her desk was still here, tucked in the corner between the bookshelf and the closet, old school papers shoved in the drawers of the aged oak.

She brushed her hand over the sheets atop her bed. Soft, worn cotton, the color unknown. It surprised Monica when her hand brushed against another person.

John.

She looked over at him, and smiled when she saw her partner sprawled out on the right side of the bed. His face was buried in the pillows, so she couldn't tell if he was asleep or not.

Hesitant to wake him, but curious as to why they were in her room, she grasped his shoulder and shook firmly.

John mumbled something, then rolled over, his back to Monica. She smiled and shook harder. After a minute he turned to face her. "Yes?" He asked, his eyes still closed.

"John," Monica said, scooting down in bed so that she was resting on her right elbow. "John, how did we get here?"

"Airplane," he mumbled, half asleep. "I know we got here on a plane," Monica said, now she was awake and wanted to talk. "It was Enrique's plane. I mean, how did we get in my room?"

"I carried you," he replied.

"Oh." She wished she had been awake for that.

"Anything else before I go back to sleep?" John asked now opening his eyes and staring at her.

Looking into his eyes reminded her of everything they had been through that night. Suddenly she said, "I'm scared." And she was.

"How come?" He reached up and brushed his fingers against her cheek. "I don't know." Now she felt silly for voicing her fears aloud.

"Your dad got us all of our stuff, new I.D.s, passports, airline tickets and everything. We leave tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh," Monica said again. That soon? It took a plane ride, and a good night's sleep and she was another person? It was really that easy?

"What are you afraid of?" John's words interrupted her thoughts. He traced the outline of her lips with his fingertip. 

"I don't know," Monica said again. "I just am."

"You don't have to be afraid anymore, okay?" He said gently. "We're going to get away from all this, we'll be safe."

"I wish I could believe that," she murmured quietly, almost to herself. 

"You'd better believe it," John teased, reaching out to give her a hug. She hugged him back, tightly.

"We'd better get some sleep," John whispered, "It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

For the first night, and for many nights to come, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

---

****

Mexico City International Airport

Mexico City, Mexico

1:05 p.m. 

---

"I hate these chairs," John complained, shifting his weight to get comfortable, "I _really_ hate these chairs, can you imagine _sleeping_ in these things? Like when the airports close and things like that. Imagine _living_ in one of these for three or four days."

"I couldn't imagine," Monica said wryly, looking up from the copy of _USA Today _she had bought. "Look at this."

John leaned over and read the headline: Two FBI Agents Die In Plane Crash

He chuckled, "Wow," His tone matched Monica's, "We made the papers." Monica leaned closer to him and read the article, "Two FBI agents from the Washington D.C. headquarters died in a plane crash late yesterday evening." 

She paused and scanned the text on the paper in front of her, "Blah, blah, blah. Well…" her voice dropped to a whisper again, "At least they think we're dead."

"The media does, but what about the Bureau?" John turned to face her, his eyes—now a dark brown thanks to the contact lenses he was wearing—sparkling. 

"I don't know," Monica replied, uncomfortably aware that her hair was now dyed blonde. "All I know is, I want to get on that plane and get the hell out of here. This place is starting to give me the creeps for some reason."

"I hear 'ya," John agreed. Shifting in her seat, Monica pulled her new passport from her pocket and read the information. "Zayit? My last name is Zayit now?" She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

John chuckled at her expression, "Better than mine." 

"What's yours? I didn't get to see it before."

"Lanskey."

"Hey," she said, a smile growing on her face, "not bad." John grinned at her, "Still wanna be Mrs. Lanskey?"

In answer to his question she leaned over and kissed him soundly. "Well," John said, still grinning, "I'll take that as a yes."

Before Monica could say another word, a voice over the P.A. system said, "United Flight 758 to Sydney, Australia is now boarding. Please present your ticket to the flight attendant on board."

John stood and gathered up the single carry-on bag he had, "Well, that's our flight. Are you ready?" He offered his hand to Monica.

Suddenly, Monica wasn't scared anymore. She would show those people who were after her. She grinned broadly at him, and took his hand, "As I'll ever be."

Hand in hand they walked toward the gate, toward their new life, toward freedom.

Together.

To Be Continued…

****


End file.
